


The Clown's Prince

by IceRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Assault, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bruce is 15, Dark, How Do I Tag, M/M, Manipulative Jerome, Not Beta Read, Praise Kink, Teen Angst, Top Jerome Valeska, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drug Use, Underage Handjobs, Underage Sex, Whump Bruce, underage blowjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceRose/pseuds/IceRose
Summary: Framed, Bruce is sent to Arkham at the age of 15.  There he catches the attention of Jerome Valeska who takes him under his wing and into his bed.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone  
> So I started this fic when I had originally hit a writer's block with my other story and it's started to get a life of its own. I intend to keep the chapters relatively short as it started as a drabble and expanded from there. I also haven't written anything in many many years, since I was in high school and that was also many years ago now.  
> It's important to note that Bruce is 15 years old and Jerome is 20 so it is underage and if you don't like that don't read.This isn't a nice fic. Jerome does not have any good intention when it comes to Bruce and is definitely taking advantage of him.

Bruce wasn’t sure how he got in this situation.  He wasn’t sure why.  All he knew was that he was convicted of a crime he knew he didn’t commit, but since it was his clone that did it, everyone thought it was him.  When he informed his lawyer that it was his clone, he didn’t believe him.  What he did believe was what everyone believed, that Bruce belonged in Arkham.

          That wasn’t what he was confused about. It was the fact that he was sitting next to Jerome, who apparently was his boyfriend, as another inmate danced around on the makeshift stage. 

          Perhaps he should start at the beginning. 

 

* * *

       

          The cafeteria left much to be desired as he was shoved inside.  He was in his new uniform which was too large for him, but apparently they don’t usually get any children.  Everyone was staring at him.  Or it felt like it at least. 

          Bruce timidly got in line for the food, if it could be called that.  It was different gloppy gunk that was put on different parts of his metal tray, with the exception of the cup of water and jello. Finding an empty table, he sat with his back to the wall and tried to eat, though his stomach seemed unwilling.

          “Well well well, what do we have here,” Jerome sat on the table beside his tray and stole his jello.  “I didn’t know we had a kids table.”

          Bruce didn’t want any trouble.  He just wanted to keep his head down and cause minimal fuss while Alfred and Jim found proof of his innocence. That being said, with a quick glance at the guards, they seemed to be purposely ignoring Jerome.  So he looked up at the scarred face and glared at him. 

          The redhead’s face was healing well.  The scars of where his face was literally stitched back on were pink but the actual stitches were either removed or dissolved at this point.  Still, his skin was slightly discolored from being separated from the body and wrinkly in a way that wasn’t quite natural.  Overall, with the scar extended smile, Jerome’s appearance set Bruce on edge.

          “There is one now,” he was quick and didn’t care how much of it he spilt as he grabbed his jello cup from the murders’ hands.  Keeping eye contact, he titled it back and slurped some of the jello and put it back on his tray.

          Jerome just laughed and moved to sit properly beside him and stole more of his food.  Bruce sighed and more or less let him.  “You know, last time we were together, we had so much fun.”

          Fun?  He tried to murder him and Bruce beat his face in retaliation. “We have different definitions of fun.”

          “So you didn’t enjoy our little tussle?”

          Bruce did not.  He balled his hands into fists and looked away. He did not enjoy fighting him… The feel of his knuckles beating down on him… the rush it gave him.  How he almost didn’t stop…  “No.” 

          Jerome didn’t look like he believed him but his attention was taken by the fight that was started on the other side of the room.  “We’ll see about that.”

          Everyone was told to get on the ground and the inmates that were fighting were dragged away.  Then, everyone was told to line up and they were sent to wherever.


	2. Not Friends

Bruce was left alone, more or less, his first few days.  Sure, he was mocked and tormented by the inmates who had a vendetta against the rich or simply thought he was an easy, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.  It was just name calling and tripping at this point, not unlike attending school.  What he struggled with was the attention the pedophiles gave him.  They would grope him whenever they had the chance and would describe in detail what they would do to him, how he would be such a great bitch.

Jerome mostly left him be and his followers followed suit.  They didn’t pay him any attention and he would have thought the redhead forgotten about him if it wasn’t the fact he would greet him when they walked by each other and winked or waved when Bruce was caught watching him from afar.  

It was nearly a week into being in Arkham when Jerome initiated another conversation with him. 

“Y’know, you can sit with me. You don’t have to stare longingly from across the room.”

Bruce scoffed.  So he might be staring more than he liked to admit, but it was only because the redhead was the most dangerous man in Arkham and had tried to kill him twice before.  “I’m not staring longingly.” 

“Ha.  Come on, Brucie.  Friends don’t lie-“

“We’re not friends.”

Jerome laughed at this, but he didn’t seem angry at being interrupted. “Mmhmm. The offer stands for when you get tired of being all alone.”

And with that, Jerome got up and returned to his usual seat. 

* * *

 

A few days later, some of the inmates decided it was time to become physical with Bruce.  They cornered him in the hallway and told him they wanted to “play with him.”  There were no guards to be seen and even if there were, there was a slim chance that they would be willing to do anything to stop the pedophiles.  His clone’s actions diminishing any possibility for them to feel sympathetic to him. 

Bruce was on his own. He couldn’t rely on anyone but himself to get out of his situation.  So when the first put his hands on him, Bruce fought.  He kicked and he punched and he made them regret ever having thought of him as an easy prey.  They in turn used their larger size and numbers to land a few blows on him themselves.  They try to tear at his clothes as they tell him how they’ll enjoy making him their bitch, how they were going to use lube, but no longer. He might have let the anger get the best of him.  One guy was knocked out and another was laying on the floor groaning. 

          Bruce needed to get out of there, he have seen the guards careless attitudes to the inmates and knew that they didn’t care what the reason he fought was.  He ran and ran until he found somewhere to hide.  Then, he tried to make himself presentable. 

          There was nothing he could do about his fists.  He had no ice and he would need to get into one of the bathrooms to wash up.  Unfortunately, all bathrooms not in the cell were locked and needed a guard to let you in, if they wanted to.  They usually told you to hold it.  He tried to fix his hair, push it back in the comb back way he kept it without a comb.  His oversized shirt was torn, but that could be explained away, and he could keep himself from limping from the blow one of the men made against his leg. 

          Taking a deep breath, he started walking towards the rec room where he would be forced to remain until dinner and lights out.  God, he missed having his mind stimulated.  Alfred sent him books and there was technically a chess board, though a few pieces were missing and the ones that weren’t looked like it was gnawed on, but it wasn’t enough.  If he continued to stay here, he could see himself going insane from his brain rotting away.

          No one paid him any attention when he entered the room and went to his usual seat.  He was boring.  He didn’t say anything to anyone besides that first day with Jerome.  They weren’t much conversationalists and he didn’t really understand their logic, or lack of it.  Besides, boring, up until now, gave him peace. 

          Looking out the window, he almost didn’t notice when the seat next to his was taken again by a certain redhead.  “You should have killed them.”

          “I beg your pardon?”

          “Don’t play coy. Your fists and the missing pedophiles speak for themselves.” Bruce shoved his hands in his pocket.  “Little Brucie can throw a punch, trust me, my face remembers.”

          “If it remembers so well, why are you bothering me?”

          Jerome’s head fell back and he laughed.  And laughed.  Until finally he stopped and his face fell flat.  “You’re a lot of fun to play with, kido, so here a little piece of advice.  I’d watch that little booty if I were you.”  Then he left. 

* * *

 

          At group, he was asked what happened to his hands.  He said he was punching the wall when he realized that the doctor wouldn’t let it go. 

          The taunting was more sexual, especially from the guys he beat up, but for at least he didn’t get in trouble and they didn’t try anything serious.  They did slap his ass and one tripped him.  He was never more grateful for being a minor, since he showered in the communal alone, since there was some law in place of making minors and adults shower together.

          A few days.  That’s how long it took for them to try something again.  The big guy in particular when he was in the halls.  He walked away, but only just.  He was sporting dislocated shoulder and a nice shiner on his face.  How he was going to cover this up, he didn’t know, but he had to try.

          He failed.  One guard took one look at how his arm was hanging and he was in the hospital wing.  The doctor clearly didn’t believe the “I tripped” story, especially when the big guy was also her patient and kept giving him the stink eye. 

          Oh, he didn’t want to spend the night in this wing.  He assured her that he was fine and could go back to his cell, but she said 24 observation.  He was hit in the face, she had to make sure he was okay, even if it mean leaving him with the man who did it to him.  It didn’t matter that they both had to be strapped to the beds, he knew there was plenty of way out of it. 

          The lights went off, and Bruce didn’t sleep.  He couldn’t.  He wasn’t safe here.  It was out in the open and not his room.  He had to pretend, if only to keep from being given meds, but his mind began playing tricks on him as the night dragged. 

          Then, the door opened and closed.  There was movement on the other side of the room, but with the curtains drawn, he couldn’t see.  Then there was silence and Bruce feigned sleep again when the footsteps came closer. And closer.  And closer.

          “You need to work on your acting skills,” a familiar voice informed him. 

          Bruce let out a sigh of relief.  Jerome might have tried to kill him, but Bruce was relieved to see him instead of one of the perverts.  It must have shown, since Jerome took a seat on his bed and brushed some of the hair out of his face.  He opened his eyes and saw that Jerome had what had to be the most serious expression he’s ever seen on him.

          “Happy to see me, Brucie?”

          Lie.  That’s what he should have done.  But he was tired, and in pain, though the pain meds made that fuzzy, made everything fuzzy.  He hasn’t felt like he could relax in the weeks he was here, but for some reason, he felt like he could now.  “Yes,” he breathed. 

          Fingers delicately traced the bruise on his face.  “You’re a crazy kid.” 

          It was nice, being touched and it not hurting.  The only contact he’s had lately hurt.  He didn’t mind that the touch had moved to his hair and he was being petted.  It made him drowsy, but he couldn’t sleep.  He wasn’t safe, even if he felt it.  Jerome was a killer and the other man was still in the room.  Jerome started singing a tune Bruce didn’t recognize but it brought a smile to his lips.  He was a good singer.  Bruce should tell him so.

          There was chuckling, but it felt distant, and he was floating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone,  
> Thanks you so much to everyone who has left Kudos and Comments. It means the world to me. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Prince Charming Jerome


	3. Prince Charming Jerome

A loud and piercing scream woke Bruce up.  He didn’t even realize he fell asleep and forgot where he was until he couldn’t get up and he felt a wave of pain. Right, the hospital wing. 

          Someone in heels ran towards him, drawing back the curtains and looking at him in horror.  The nurse looked at him before running away as guards entered the room.

          They too checked on him, but this time to see if he was indeed still bound, which he was.  Then they told him he was to go back to his cell and the straps were undone and the curtain was being drawn back. 

          Where the pedophile was resting covered in red.  There was so much blood and his corpse, oh God. 

          Rolling over, he puked over the side of his bed.  It wasn’t until now that he realized there was a smell and god if was awful. But the guards had no sympathy and he was forcibly taken back to his cell, his shoulder protesting the whole way. 

          Bruce was tossed in his cell and he was told that was where he would stay until someone came to talk to him about the previous night.  He was given breakfast and lunch in his cell before he was escorted to the visiting room. 

          Alfred was there, but as his guardian, it made sense they had to wait for him.  Bruce couldn’t be interviewed without him.

          “Bruce Wayne.  What was your relationship with the victim?”  The officer interrogated.

          “I might have seen him in passing, but I don’t know him.”  Bruce answered.

          “It says here that you both were brought into the hospital wing within an hour of each other for wounds correlating with a fight.  Would you like change your statement?”

          “No.  As I told the doctor, I tripped over my pant leg down a couple of stairs and had a nasty fall.”

          “Right…  Did you see or hear anything last night from the hours of 1 and 2:30 a.m?”

          Bruce remembered Jerome.  He remembered vaguely how he smelled like blood, but he always did.  He remembered how gentle his touch was and how safe he felt.  He remember hearing something last night before Jerome went to him.  How he smiled kindly at him.

          “No.  I was asleep.  I was given pretty strong pain meds that pretty much knocked me out.”

          Alfred knew Bruce was lying.  Didn’t know why but he knew he was.  Bruce didn’t know why he was lying either.  He shouldn’t be covering for a killer, especially Jerome of all people, but here he was

          After a few more questions, Bruce was sent to dinner.  He said his goodbyes to Alfred, told him he missed him, and he was escorted to the cafeteria.

          He was greeted by Jerome, who took to walking by his side and carrying the tray.  Once they were sitting, Bruce asked him why he was being so nice. 

          “A man can’t help a friend out? Geez.”  

          Bruce gave him a look. “We’re not friends, though.”

          “Sure we are.  I helped you with your little pedo problem and you didn’t rat my late night escape to the coppers.” Jerome replied between bites of his food.

          Frustrated, Bruce inquired,  “But why?  Why did you kill him?  It wasn’t right.”

          Laughing like he was just told the best joke in the world, Jerome wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.  “Oh, Brucie.  So much to learn.  Did you hear about movie night?  I heard it’s going to be a classic.” 

          That didn’t answer Bruce’s question but he clearly wasn’t going to get one.  So they discussed what movie it was going to be until dinner was over and they were sent to their cells for the night. 

          The next morning, Jerome was at his side again, helping him with his tray and talking about his crazy dream from the night before.  With Jerome next to him, some of his followers came to sit with them this time, but Bruce was surprisingly fine with that.  They didn’t really talk to him, only Jerome, who was sitting unnecessarily close to him. 

It was strange to be included like this.  He was never popular during his brief stint at school.  The opposite in fact. 

They didn’t talk about the dead body that was found.  They didn’t talk about how Bruce was now part of the group.  And he was part of the group. 

Bruce was found himself beside Jerome for the rest of the day.  It felt safe to be there.  No one was taunting him, no one was grabbing or tripping him. 

The day was going so well, he forgot it was movie night.  The chairs were all rearranged in the cafeteria and a big projector was put up.   Bruce was going to sit in the back corner before his good arm was being tugged and Jerome was leading him to the front and center.  He was sat and huge bowl of popcorn was placed in his lap but Jerome didn’t sit just yet.  He didn’t sit until the lights were dimmed and the movie was starting. 

Their knees just barely not touching as Jerome ate the popcorn out of Bruce’s lap.  Bruce didn’t even notice just how close they were until Jerome whispered about the movie in his ear, telling him that the next part was good.  He nearly jumped out of his seat as goosebumps spread across his skin. 

Jerome chuckled, whether it was at him or the movie, he couldn’t tell.  But he was startlingly aware of the other man now.  How his hand brushed his when he grabbed some popcorn.  How his knee occasionally bumped his when he laughed. 

He must have been staring as an arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and Jerome’s eyes were on him.  “You okay kido?”

Oh he was just so damn close and Bruce was sure his face was bright red.  “Yes.” He hoped that it didn’t come out as much as a squeak as he thought it did and he forced himself to watch the silent film, though he was very much aware of the eyes on him. 

Jerome either took him at his word or had mercy on him, as he did say anything else, though his arm continued to rest on his shoulders, careful not to cause him any pain.

* * *

                                          

It had been a few days and Bruce was slowly being accustomed to Jerome.  To how he casually touched him.  To that complete lack of personal space.  On top of that, he was never alone.  If Jerome wasn’t with him, one of his followers were shadowing his every step. 

That was why it was strange to be alone again.  He was walking back to the rec room from a “therapy” session (the doctor would try to talk about his parents or the murder he didn’t commit and Bruce had given up on talking to her so he would remain silent) and suddenly he was being pushed into the wall. 

Chastising himself for letting his guard drop, Bruce tried to fight back, but his shoulder was still in a sling and there were two of them. 

“You little bitch.  Think you’re all that because you’re the clown’s newest fuck.”  Bruce tried to curl into a ball, despite his body’s protest, to preserve his organs from the worse of it.  His only hope is that someone would come and help, hopefully a kind guard. 

And then the beatings stopped and the screaming began. Looking up, Bruce watched as Jerome took a shiv and stabbed one of the men’s throat before turning his attention to the other one.  He looked ready to shit his pants at the sight Jerome made.  Bruce knew he should stop him, knew that Jerome was going to kill the other man, but he couldn’t even get up or cry out.  All he could do was watch as the man was stabbed repeatedly before being dropped to the floor. 

“Up a daisy,” Jerome pocketed the blade and was picking up Bruce, cradling him in his arms.  Holding onto him the best Bruce could, he let himself cry as he was taken back to the medical wing. 

The utter shock on the doctor’s face when they walked in was almost comical.  It must have been quite a sight.  Bruce was sure he looked much like the child he was, scared and hurting in the arms of a bloody killer. 

“What happened?” She asked as Bruce as placed on the nearest empty bed.

“A couple men got too big for the breeches,” Jerome answered, sitting just out of the way on a stool, clearly not planning on going anywhere.  “Fix him.”

Blood drained from the good doctor’s face as she and the nurse cut away at Bruce’s uniform since it was all red thanks to Jerome. They worked diligently, giving Bruce a few shots and making it hard to keep his eyes open. He looked at Jerome who had a strangely serious expression and Bruce recalled thinking it wasn’t a good look on him before he went under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again everyone for reading.   
> I am not quite happy with the ending of this chapter but fighting scenes are not my strong suit and will strive to improve them.   
> While I have several ideas about what the boys should get into while Bruce is in Arkham, any suggestions would be appreciated and taken into consideration. I have an idea of where this story will go, but how to get to the next part is always a grey area.   
> Thank you again.  
> xoxo


	4. Waking Up In the Hospital Is Never Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone  
> The postive response to this fic is overwelming. Thank you everyone for reading and bookmarking and commenting. It means so very much to me.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> xoxo

When Bruce woke again, he was aching all over and sick of waking up in the hospital wing.  It might be the second time, but it was two times too many.  Alfred was going to say something the next visiting day. 

The room was too bright and he groaned as he wished he was asleep for a little while longer.  This alerted one of the nurses to go to his side.

“There there, easy does it.” 

It takes a little bit to open his eyes fully and take in his surroundings.  “What happened?”

“Let’s start at what you remember,” She answered.

She’s taking his pulse and shining a too bright light in his eyes.  “I went to therapy…” When the guard told him it was his turn, he recalled groaning.  Jerome laughed, but of course he would, they don’t make him go through this bullshit anymore (for very good reasons probably).  The older man told him to have fun, which he responded with that he wouldn’t.  Then he sat in therapy for 30 minutes before all he could remember was pain. “That’s about it.”

The nurse wrote something down, giving him a sad smile.  “You came to us after quite the beating.  Cracked ribs, minor concussion, fractured right ulna, and you aggravated your shoulder again and are covered with other minor cuts and bruises.  Slept for nearly two days, you did.”

Fantastic.  A list of injuries is just what anyone likes to wake up to.  The nurse took a couple of more notes and asked him what hurt the most (everywhere) and went to go get the doctor.  The doctor came and went, and Bruce was bored. 

They just wanted him to rest for a while longer, to make sure he was okay.  No one would get him a book and they just expected him to sit there.  They wouldn’t even talk to him beyond medical questions.  It was dreadful.  If it wasn’t for how tired he was and was able to go in and out of sleep, Bruce was sure he would go mad. 

When lights were shut off again for the night, he was itching to get out of bed and do something, anything.    The lights must have been out for hours when his visitor from last time came. 

Bruce didn’t even bother trying to hide how he was awake, or that how happy he was to see him.  “Hey,” he greeted, hating the way his voice sounded so weak.

“Well well well, look who’s awake past their bedtime,” Jerome took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You look like shit.”

It started as a laugh but ended in coughing that made his chest hurt. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“What can I say?  I’m a funny guy.”  Jerome’s hand was soft and warm as it brushed along his face.  “So what’s the verdict?  Will you live?”

“Not if I’m stuck here.  I’m dying of boredom.”

It was like he said he was actually dying, like it was the worst thing in the world.  Jerome’s overly dramatic response had Bruce laughing again when it struck him.  Jerome knew everything that happened in the asylum.  He would know what happened to him and why the doctor’s weren’t the most forthcoming about it.

“Hey Jerome,” he started.

“Yes Brucie?” 

“What happened?  I can’t remember and no one will tell me.”

Jerome was silent for a moment before caressing the non-swollen side of his face. “You have the worse luck, Brucie.  You were jumped again, but never fear, I rescued you like your very own prince charming, carried you here myself.  You make an amazing princess in despair.” 

Memories came to him in bits and pieces.  There was a lot of pain, but he could see Jerome’s face when he went after one of the guys.  “You killed them…”

Jerome smiled at him. “I did.”

“You shouldn’t have.” 

Jerome shrugged, “They shouldn’t have hurt you first.”

Bruce wanted to protest when a nurse came in to do her rounds.  Jerome didn’t even bother hiding, only smiling a frightening way at her when she spotted him.  “You shouldn’t be here.”  The middle aged nurse informed them.  “And you Mister Wayne should be asleep.”

Both of the boys gave each other a look before they started to laugh.  They were like little children being caught up past their bedtime. 

“I’ve been sleeping all day, ma’am.”

The nurse didn’t seem to care and was adamant they do as she says. 

“I’ll see you later, Jerome. If the doctor won’t release me after breakfast, I’d like it if you could bring me something to do.”  Bruce didn’t want the lady hurt for pissing off Jerome, and he was starting to get tired again.  Plus, he didn’t want to talk about whether it was right or wrong to kill at two in the morning. He knew the other well enough that he would need to be fully awake to have that discussion.

Jerome groaned and moaned about being made to leave his friend but once Bruce yawned, he let himself be kicked out with a promise he’d be back soon.

…

The doctors didn’t want Bruce to be out and about so soon. That being said, the fact that Jerome kept his promise and was back right after breakfast, they released him early.   As long as Bruce promised to take it easy and took Jerome with him.  Something about him playing with their equipment for entertainment whenever they started talking medical stuff annoyed them. 

They’re walking, guards keeping a vigilant eye on them, or more specifically, Jerome.  They’re almost at the rec room when Bruce grabbed onto Jerome’s sleeve but kept his gaze forward.  “Thank you.  For helping me, that is. And getting me out of the hospital wing.” 

The red head chuckled and ruffled Bruce’s hair in response.  “You’re so cute, Brucie.”

All of Bruce’s blood rushed to his face and then he realized he still hadn’t let go of Jerome.  Blame the pain meds.  Or the concussion. Letting go and shoving his hand into the pocket, Bruce wanted the ground to swallow him up. 

The inmates that Bruce was hanging out with recently cheered when they walked in, making Bruce kinda of miss the hospital wing.  He was never one for so much attention to be on him.  So he hid behind Jerome, which made the other laugh again. 

They threw a small party, using toilet paper and regular paper colored in crayon as confetti and decoration and they saved him cookie from dinner.   “Thank you,” Bruce managed to get out as he was being made to sit in the center of the raggedy sofa. 

He was missed.  He didn’t say much, he knew.  But he was missed nonetheless.  It was heartwarming.

One of the girls, Janet? Was telling him all about geese and how they were evil and he couldn’t find it in him to zone it out like before.  Jerome had moved beside him during the story and had put an arm on the back of his seat. 

The next few days, everything was normal, or as normal as it was to be at Jerome’s side.  He might not be focusing his sadistic urges on Bruce, but he still had them.  One person was annoying him, the exact reason Bruce didn’t catch.  But he went off on him.  He took the nearest object, an in-use cafeteria tray, and started beating the man with it.  Bruce was startled, not knowing quite how to respond.  He knew he wasn’t in any shape to get between Jerome and the person in question, but before he could even do anything, it was over.  Jerome was straightening out his jumpsuit and sitting back down, his head resting on his fists and smiling up at Bruce.  “You were saying?”

Bruce looked at the beat man, who was at least able to sit himself up, and Jerome.  Even if he wanted to play it off, he couldn’t process past the incident that just happened.  He just sat there until he realized Jerome was snapping his fingers in his face.  “Pardon me.  Where was I?”

There was mischievousness in Jerome’s eyes.  “Macbeth’s wife was convincing Macbeth to kill his friend.” 

“Right, so since Banquo also saw the three witches, he was viewed as a threat to his kingship…” The other inmate crawled away as Bruce told them the story of Macbeth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone.  
> You know the drill, kudos and comments gives me life.  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Doctor Jerome Valeska


	5. Doctor Jerome Valeska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> So sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. Real life has been crazy tbh, and between my two jobs and everything else, writing and editing has unfortunately been put aside until now.  
> I hope you like this chapter.  
> xoxo

“Good afternoon, Alfred.” Bruce greeted.

          Alfred looked like he was putting an effort to look like he was put together, but there were bags under his eyes and his suit wasn’t in perfect condition.  If Bruce wasn’t looking, he would have missed the signs. 

          Bruce knew he wasn’t looking he greatest either.  He still had his arm in a sling and his face was like tie-dye. His hair was growing out, he wasn’t used to shaving with such dull blades (Jerome loved pointing out anything that made him seem younger, so every nick was always noticed). 

          “Good afternoon, Master Bruce.  You’re looking…”

          “Horrible?  It has been an experience living here,” Bruce admitted.

          “You know, the doctor keeps me informed on how you are doing, as you’re still a minor…”

          “I can’t imagine what she has to say, I don’t talk to her.”

          “That’s part of the problem, Master Bruce.  You’re not talking to the doctors and you’ve been talking to Jerome Valeska of all people.”

          Hanging his head in shame, Bruce worried the end of his sleeve where it was coming undone.  “He saved my life, Alfred.”

          There was a heavy sigh. Alfred didn’t approve but he wasn’t the one whose life was constantly being threatened.  Bruce wasn’t blind.  He saw the way he was still looked at.  Jerome’s side both kept him safe and painted a bigger target on his back as a possible weak link.  He heard the whispers that he was sleeping with Jerome in not so kind terms but there was nothing Bruce could about those.  Explaining personal space to Jerome was impossible as the man had no understanding of such things. 

          They tried talking about things outside the asylum and Bruce’s imprisonment.  They discussed the company, the Court of Owls, the weather, but all conversations seemed to return to where they were.  “Detective Gordon is still looking into the case,” Alfred tried to assure Bruce. 

          Bruce would like to think he was accepting his fate, but hearing about it still lit a fire in him.  He wanted to scream and fight, that it wasn’t fair, he didn’t deserve to be in this place, worried constantly for his life and sanity.  But he just clenched his fists and mentally counted down to keep calm.   It wasn’t Alfred’s fault.  Getting angry didn’t solve anything…

* * *

 

          “Who peed in your cereal?”

           “I don’t have cereal…”

          Jerome flopped down in the seat in front of Bruce, putting his face in his.  “Jarvis’s visit not go well?”

          “You mean Alfred?”

          “Yes, Alphonse.  Tell Doctor Jerome everything.”  He mimed pushing up glasses and pulling out a notepad and pen.

          Serious did not suit Jerome.  Especially with his lips carved into a permanent smile.  It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to actually talk about himself to the madman either.

          “You’re aware I didn’t actually kill the men I’ve been convicted of-“

“-Obviously-“

“-I was in my house working on… stuff at the time.  But you see, Hugo Strange had a lot of things in his lab, like your corpse.  And he was working on cloning. He made one of me.  He didn’t have any memories, but Selena found him on the street and so he stayed with us for a little while. I don’t know why he killed those people, only that he checked that the camera was on before doing so and cut his hair like mine.”

Jerome didn’t have anything to say right away, which was a first.  “You’re saying there’s someone out there that looks like you, making people think you did things you didn’t do and that you’re crazy?”

That was one way of looking at it. “…Yes?”

Writing imaginary notes, Jerome looked through his ‘pages of notes.’  “And how does that make you feel?”  The way he said it, the same way the doctors always are asking it, and it made Bruce clench his fists and begin to count backwards again.

“I’m not doing this.” Bruce moved to get up, but Jerome was fast and there was a hand on his chest.  God he was so close.

“Come on, Brucie boy.  It’s just me.  I won’t tell no one.” 

The urge to smack Jerome was strong, but Bruce didn’t want to risk himself like that.  He didn’t know what would make the redhead snap and didn’t want to get into a fight with him with only one hand.

“I’m frustrated, okay?  My lawyer doesn’t actually believe me, my company is being controlled by the fucking Court of Owls, and I’m stuck in here with you lot, for God’s sake.  What else am I supposed to feel?” It wasn’t until he reached the end that he realized his voice was raised and he was attracting attention.  Fuck, he hated attention. He missed practically being a hermit with Alfred. 

Laughing, Jerome began petting and straightening Bruce up.  “Hit me.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Pent up emotion isn’t good for a growing boy.  Hit me.  I know you want to…” 

Bruce just stared at him before Jerome rolled his eyes and smacked him.  It was when he tried it a second time that Bruce responded in kind.  His shoulder protested, his ribs complained, as he felt the fire he was trying to smother reignite inside him and burn so hot, the only way to get relief was to beat it out of Jerome. 

As quickly as he started it was over.  He was being pulled off Jerome, who never stopped laughing, by a guard who looked ready to beat him into submission.  “Now that’s the Brucie I remember.” Sitting up, he gingerly touched his face to feel where the bruises were going to start forming.  “Be useful and grab us some ice,” he ordered the guard went to do as commanded.

All the emotions were still at the surface, Bruce didn’t exactly know what way was up.  There were hands on him again, but they were gentle and warm.  They fixed his sling and were brushing his too long hair out of his face.  There was a soft voice, telling him he did good and Bruce let himself be handled and put back into his chair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.  
> And a special thank you to everyone who leaves a comment and kudos. They bring me such joy.  
> xoxo
> 
> Next Chapter: Laughter is the Best Kind of Medicine


	6. Laughter is the Best Kind of Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone.  
> As an apology for the long wait between chapters, I've decided to release two today. If you haven't already, go back and read the previous chapter.  
> xoxo

Bruce just got out of wearing a sling when he watched as two of their… are they friends?  Laughed like no tomorrow.  It was a new drug, one that gave apparently an amazing high. Gigglepig, Jerome said it was called. 

“Come on,” Jerome held out two pills in the palm of his hand.  “You know you want to try it.”

“With all due respect, I’m not about to take anything from you that I don’t know where it came from with 100% certainty.” It wasn’t that Bruce thought it would kill him. He knew that if Jerome wanted to kill him, he would have done it already.  Especially when he was hurt or asleep.  Jerome had no concept of personal space and was always touching Bruce.  He’s held his knife to his face and told him how he got it from someone who was no longer with them who thought Jerome would be easy to kill and proceeded to cut an apple.

“I’ll take the other one, scouts honor.”  He held up his other hand. 

This was dumb.  Bruce wasn’t the type to do drugs, even before he was locked away.  He didn’t really do any recreational type of things.  

“You go first.”

“That’s my boy,” Jerome let Bruce pick which of the little white pills was his and put the other one on his tongue before swallowing. 

Taking his pill, Bruce watched at Jerome bursted into a fit of laughter and didn’t know if that was because of the drugs or him.  “I don’t feel anything,” he tells him.  Was Jerome’s hair always so red?  The guards recently shaved it, which was a shame.

“Is that so?” Jerome chuckled.  Was Bruce thinking aloud? “Yep.”

Shit.  Shit… Why was poop so funny?  He’s never understood before, but now it made all the sense in the world.  But the hair… It was like fire.  And it looked so soft, Bruce couldn’t stop himself from touching it. 

His hands were all over Jerome, feeling his scared face and laughing as he did so.  He felt great.  Why did he think this was a bad idea? 

Someone was talking to him but was the world always so shiny?  No focus, it might be important. God, Jerome had such a nice voice.  He knew why he always had people listening to him, he was so easy on the ears.  His words seemed to pull at the soul like no one else’s.  And his laugh. He didn’t realize there were so many ways someone could laugh, but they all were beautiful. 

“Oh Brucie.  You’re such a sweet kid.”  Was he? He didn’t think so.  He always tried to do what was right, but it was so hard.  Why did it always have to be so hard?

Then he felt like he was floating.  If he kept going up and up, would he see his parents again?  That was a nice thought. He missed them so much.  But then he wouldn’t be with everyone else. He didn’t want to leave Jerome, he was so nice.  Sure, he killed a few people and tried to kill him twice now, but he was so kind.  Always helping. 

Suddenly, he felt a bubble of laughter escape him like he didn’t recall experiencing in ages.  It was so carefree.  When was the last time he just was?

He didn’t want to think about anything but how great he was now.  He hoped this feeling would never end…

* * *

 

The inmate was either very crazy or very dumb.  He was standing before Jerome and Bruce as they were minding their own business and this man thought to intrude and tell them off. 

“…I’ve had enough of your little dumb bitch.  Thinks he is all that because he’s fuckin’ rich and spreads his legs to ya but he’s nothin’ but a cheap whore…” He ranted, swinging his toothbrush shiv all around as he did so. 

Jerome made to get up but Bruce stopped him with a hand to the chest.  “I’m nothing but a whore?”

The man didn’t know when to shut up. “Without your money.  Without Jerome. You’re nothing.” 

“I see…” Bruce took his tray, still covered in uneaten food and before the man knew it, Bruce was upon him.  He knocked the blade out of the man’s hand and beat him down with the tray.  Once he was down on the ground, Bruce was on top of him, tray still in hand and he kept hitting him until his grip loosened and the tray fell out.

Bruce brought his hand down, not realizing the tray was gone, and then cackled.  Just exactly what was so funny, he couldn’t tell you.  Perhaps it was the missing tray, perhaps it was just the rush.  All he knew was that he was above a beaten man and had completely lost it. God, this place was getting to him, chipping away at his sanity bit by bit.

Picking him up, Jerome held Bruce close as they both laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. I hope you all enjoyed this shorter chapter. I'll try to update sooner for the next chapter.  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Sent to the Principle's office


	7. Sent to the Principal's Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Thank you for reading and all the support. It means so much!  
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter despite it being a bit on the short side.  
> xoxo

Bruce was in the rec room reading in his armchair by the window and heater when the guards called for him.  Sighing, he went over to see what they wanted, one of Jerome’s men, a rather tall and intimidating man by the name of Lucas, following close behind him.  “Warden Reed wants to see you,” The guard informs him. 

          On their way out the room, the guard stops Lucas, telling them that only Bruce was asked for and so Bruce had to brave the halls alone with the guards. 

          Fear spiked through Bruce.  The guards didn’t care about the inmates and a few even hated and enjoyed to torment them.  Bruce wasn’t sure how safe he would be alone for the first time in weeks.

          The guards didn’t seem to care as he was led down the halls towards the warden’s office.  He was told to wait on the bench by the door and was left alone with orders to sit still and be quiet. 

          Time dragged as he waited to be called into the office. Bruce couldn’t help but wonder why he was here.  Sure he had done drugs and gotten into a fight or two, but neither actions warranted a visit to the Warden.  Or at least, it didn’t for everyone else. It felt like he was waiting outside the principal’s office but the Warden most definitely didn’t have his wellbeing in mind like the school administer would.  Another inmate joined him on the bench, his gaze wandering up and down Bruce’s body, making his skin crawl.  Wrapping his arm around himself as he glared at the door, willing the warden to open the door already.           

          As time went on, the other inmate got bolder, and inched closer and closer until their legs touched and Bruce was barely still on the bench.  With no guards to be seen, the inmate allowed himself to brush Bruce’s cheek, despite Bruce glaring and growling to leave him alone.

          “You’re Jerome’s little whore, aren’t you?  So pretty.  Your skin looks so soft.  I could just peel it off and wear it,” the other inmate whispered. 

          Finally, the door opened and the man gave Bruce a look over before ordering him in and to take a seat. 

          “Now Mister Wayne, you must be wondering why I called you down here.” He began. 

          “Naturally, Warden.  Am I in trouble?” With the exceptions of the times he’s defended himself, Bruce couldn’t recall doing anything that would warrant a visit to the Warden. 

          “No, no, nothing of the sort,” the man waved away concerns.  “I only wish to check in on you, seeing how you are adjusting to life here in Arkham.”

          Narrowing his eyes, Bruce leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.  “Is that so?”

          Smiling at him, Reed replied, “Of course I am.  You’re a young resident here and it is my job to ensure your wellbeing.  That being said, I do have some concerns.”

          Bruce maintained eye contact as he rose a brow, looking every bit of his sophisticated upbringing. “Do tell, Warden Reed.”

          “Your recent acquaintance with Jerome Valeska, to start.  He is a dangerous man, Mister Wayne.  It would be wise to keep your distance.”

          Resisting the urge to scoff openly, Bruce simply tilted his head.  “I am well aware of Jerome’s violent inclinations.  He has tried to kill me twice, after all.  A fact that you should have already been made aware of and yet I am in constant contact with him, regardless if I want to be.”  And at the moment, he was safer with Jerome than he was alone and while he didn’t feel like he quite owed the man his life, he knew he would be dead without him and was grateful.  None of these things was something Bruce necessarily wanted to share with the Warden.

          “Until recently, the two of you have been without incident.  Jerome’s behavior as of late has been concerning.  He has never rescued another inmate before, nor has he quite taken to caring for them in a way that he has shown with you.  Would you care to explain?”

          “I don’t know why Jerome saved my life or had taken to me the way that he has. That’s something you have to ask him.  If that’s everything, it’s going to be lunchtime and I rather not be late and have cold mush.” 

          The Warden gave him a long stare before sucking his teeth.  “I suppose I will then.  Thank you for your time, and do take care of yourself.  Arkham is full of dangerous lunatics, I would hate to see something happen to you.”

          It was a threat if Bruce had ever heard one so he nodded, thanked him for the concern, and exited the office to find leaning against the wall directly across from the door was Jerome.  His smile sent a chill down Bruce’s spine as it his green eyes flickered over him and at the Warden.  “My my my, Brucie.  What did you do to get sent to the principal’s office?”

          The Warden took a step back, visibly terrified of the redhead. 

          “Warden Reed expressed concern over my wellbeing,” Bruce answered truthfully, making his way closer to Jerome. 

          Jerome laughed at Bruce’s response, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.  “The Warden, ‘concerned’ about an inmate?  You sure know how to make a man laugh.”

          Sighing, Bruce supposed he could see the humor in it as the Warden was a cowardly man whom regularly put himself before others and enjoyed abusing the power he held in the asylum for his own gain.  “Let’s go, it’s lunchtime and I’m hungry.”

          Looking down at him with exaggerated concern, Jerome nodded and took Bruce’s hand as he led them to the cafeteria.  “A growing boy needs to eat,” He ruffled Bruce’s hair affectionately.

          “I’m not a kid,” Bruce groaned, ducking to get away and attempted to pull his good hand away to fix his hair, but Jerome didn’t budge and only laughed at his frustration. 

          They were nearly at the Cafeteria when Jerome inquired what the “Big Bad Warden” wanted. “He warned me away from you and wanted to know why you saved my life.”

          Jerome chuckled. “And what did you tell him?”

          “That there was no point in warning me away and that if he wanted to know why you do anything he should ask you, not me.”

          Barking in laughter now, Jerome caught Bruce off guard when he yanked on his arm, pulling him closer and wrapping his own arm around him, rustling his hair again.  “That’s what I love about you, kid, you got spunk.” 

          Groaning in frustration, Bruce tried to bat Jerome away to no avail.  The man had an arm around him when they entered the cafeteria.  Eyes were on them, a couple of daring souls even whistled, causing Bruce to flush in both embarrassment and rage.  He hated how their friendship was being perverted by the… perverts.  Bruce was fifteen, for fucks sake, and while he didn’t view himself as a child, he hasn’t been one since the night he lost his parents, but he knew he wasn’t truly an adult either.  Besides, Jerome didn’t like him like that.

          “Hey.  Don’t get lost in that pretty head of yours,” Jerome poked his forehead before taking two trays and walking down the line.

          Bruce rolled his eyes and kept at the other’s side, the whispers surrounding them only getting louder.    They talked about how Bruce’s hair was now ruffled, how it must have been because they were having sex.  They talked about how Jerome, someone who was more or less in charge, had demeaned himself to holding the tray for Bruce.  And most of all, they talked about how Jerome saved Bruce like a damsel in destress and how it must have been because he was his whore. 

         Despite all their whispers, all their words, Bruce knew that with Jerome standing right there, no one would dare touch him. The redhead kept him safe.  It was clear he belonged to Jerome, despite how he felt on the matter of being someone’s property, the perception protected him.  After all, it didn't matter what the truth was, Bruce was Jerome's friend, perhaps his best friend at most, but they weren't in a relationship that the other inmates believed.  Jerome didn't view Bruce that way anyways.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Bruce has no idea what goes on in Jerome's head. He can be quite dense sometimes. Don't worry though, they won't be just friends for much longer.  
> Until next chapter everyone!  
> xoxo  
> Next chapter: Rooftop Escapades


	8. Rooftop Escapades

Bruce was more or less high again, this time from a pot brownie.  It wasn’t as intense but he still felt so much lighter than he usually did. 

“Do you want to see something cool?” Jerome held out his hand. 

Taking the hand without hesitation, Bruce was led through the halls until they were on the roof. Bruce should be concerned that Jerome had such an easy access to the outdoors, but at the moment all he could feel was the wind against his skin and breathe in the fresh air.  It was the closest to being free he sometimes felt he’d ever be.  Unless he went with Jerome when he decided to break out (and he knew he would.  It was only a matter of time.)

The view of the city was beautiful.  The sun was setting and the lights were coming on.  His cell was facing the other way and he didn’t realize how much he missed just being able to look at the city.  Tears fell down his cheeks without his consent but he had a smile plastered to his face.  “It’s amazing, Jerome.”

Jerome wrapped an arm around Bruce, keeping him both steady and comforting him. 

Warm, that was what Jerome was.  He was always warm and reminded Bruce of a fire at home.  It kept him safe from the dark and warm at night, but he shouldn’t get too close as it could just as easily destroy everything in its path. 

Fingers delicately brushed the hair out of Bruce’s face and traced the smile on his lips.  “You’re beautiful.” 

Blush brushed across Bruce’s features as he didn’t know what to do.  He was a boy, boys weren’t beautiful.  But his heart fluttered at the words.

Then, Jerome was kissing him and Bruce lost all ability to think.  It was nothing like kissing a girl, like kissing Selena.  The lips were not soft, but chapped and rough.  They were forced into a permanent smile, but that didn’t detract from the kiss.  A tongue gently pressed for entrance, which Bruce granted, and was dancing with his own.  He didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so just gripped onto Jerome’s shirt for dear life. 

Jerome on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he doing.  His hands were everywhere all at once.  When Bruce pulled away to breathe, Jerome’s mouth never left him, only going down to his neck.  Letting out a soft moan, the younger let his head fall back for better access. 

“Hey, you can’t be up there,” a voice called from bellow.  Both looked down to see the guard on the ground staring up at them and radio them in.

“Run,” Jerome took Bruce’s hand and they were off again, dashing through the halls again until they were somewhere closer to where they were supposed to be. 

Holding each other for support, they laughed.  God, Bruce actually felt like a teenager. 

The bell sounded, the final bell of the day, and Bruce knew that they had to line up and go to their cells for the night. 

Sighing, Bruce pulled away to go to his cell when Jerome stopped him for another kiss.  “Goodnight, Brucie.”

Bruce dreamed of Jerome that night and realized just how fucked he was. 

…

It was impossible to avoid someone when you are literally locked up together.  After waking up to find he had a huge fucking hickey on his neck, Bruce knew that his dream wasn’t entirely a dream.  He kissed Jerome.  Well, technically Jerome kissed him, but it was basically the same thing.

Oh how he wished he could just call up Alfred and ask him what to do, but even if he could, he wouldn’t.  He would just get lectured about everything he shouldn’t have done that lead up to that moment.  Such as every interaction with Jerome that didn’t involve with trying to get away and fighting the man. 

The night of the carnival was like a lifetime ago.  Bruce wasn’t the same person anymore.  While Bruce still didn’t approve of killing, he found himself enjoying violence and the freedom to do whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.

What Bruce couldn’t seem to wrap his head around was that he was under the impression that Jerome and he were friends and that Jerome didn’t view him as anything more.  He was constantly calling him kido for a start. But, he wasn’t actually that much older than Bruce, right?  One doesn’t age when they’re dead, right?  Besides how old was the redhead anyways? 

For once, Bruce was in the cafeteria before Jerome, but didn’t think much of it.  He took his tray of “food” and sat in his usual spot.  Janet and Ralf, two of the muscles of Jerome’s group, were at the table with him, so it wasn’t like he was alone.  That being said, it wasn’t until there was an arm around his shoulders and a certain redhead was beside him that he felt at ease despite how he was still trying to wrap his head around last night’s kiss. 

It was probably a good thing Bruce was in Arkham, because he must be crazy to only feel safe with Jerome Valeska of all people next to him. 

That being said, with the arm around him, he felt the tension leave and was able to actually touch his food. There were whispers again, especially the fact that Jerome’s hickey wasn’t a small little thing.  But this time Bruce didn’t feel as bothered.

What did bother him is that he didn’t understand where he stood with the older man. He was acting the same, but if he thought about it, Jerome was always overly affectionate to him.  So was he affectionate because he like him, or was there something else? 

“You okay,” Jerome asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Just tired.” And confused and desperately wanted answers but wasn’t sure if he was ready for them.

“You can go back to sleep soon.”

Breakfast was finished soon enough and Bruce found himself with his head in Jerome’s lap, fingers scratching soothingly on his scalp and a blanket wrapped around him.  Sleep came to him easily. 

…

“Wakey wakey,” Jerome chuckled.  “You can’t sleep the day away.”

Groaning, Bruce snuggled closer to the warmth and tried to block out the light and sound. “I can try.”

          But despite his best efforts, he could not and was forced to sit up.  Jerome kissed the top of his head and told him he was cute, making Bruce turn bright red. 

          Looking up at Jerome, the redhead just smiled at him before giving him a peck on the lips.  That only made Bruce blush more so he buried his face in Jerome’s neck.

          Chuckling, Jerome just pulled Bruce closer so he was sitting on his lap while pretending this happens every day.  No one from their group treated it like it was new, so that was something at least. 

          It was only when they were told they had to go to their assigned activities that Bruce was released.  “Be bad,” Jerome told him the same way others would have said be good and gave him a quick goodbye kiss before they parted for the next couple of hours. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone,  
> They finally kissed! This is the start of the relationship between our two boys. It will only get more sexual from here.  
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. The feedback for this story has been unbelievable. Thank you all for your continuous support.  
> As I stated in previous chapters, if any of you have any ideas for what the boys could get into during their time in Arkham, I would really appreciate it.  
> There's smut at long last in the next chapter but they won't have full on sex for a few more chpaters.  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: The Romantic Nature of a Storage Closest


	9. The Romantic Nature of a Storage Closet

          Like everything about living in Arkham, it simply just took time to get used to things.  Bruce had to get used to being on his own, then being with Jerome, and now _with_ Jerome.

          The older man knew that Bruce was shy and not used to crowds so he took things slowly.  Or as slowly as Jerome could.  He was still handsy, but discreet for who he was as a person. Still, there was a lot more touching than he was used to.  Bruce was either in the older man’s lap or pressed against his side.  The kissing and the sweet talk was also new to Bruce and still caused him to be red, but apparently red was a good color on him.

          Besides some groping, they didn’t progress any further, though Bruce was aware that Jerome wanted to.  It was just he’s never done any of this before, and he didn’t want to admit to anyone that he was scared.  And Jerome was understanding, it was Bruce’s first time, but he was getting frustrated.  The redhead kept being bolder but backed off and slowed down when Bruce needed him to.

          They’re in an old maintenance room, Bruce was shirtless while Jerome was just missing his top shirt.  Both were panting from a deep kiss.  Jerome’s hands explored the exposed skin before seeking to undo his pants. 

          Bruce’s hand gripped the other’s wrist, eyes wide.  “I-“

          Shushing him, Jerome gave him another kiss. “We’re just going to have some fun,” he muttered against his lips.  With ease, the older man had the pants undone and pushed down.  Bruce tried to cover himself, but his hands were soon pinned and a leg between his own kept him from twisting out of view.  “You’re beautiful.” 

          Never before had he felt so exposed.  With the exception of when he was a child, no one has even seen him naked.  It was terrifying.  The way Jerome was looking at him, like he was something to eat, wasn’t helping matters. 

          Then he was pulled in for another kiss and he was lifted before being placed on their shirts.  He was on his back, naked, with Jerome only missing his shirts, sitting between his legs.  Hands were like fire as they travel to expanse of his chest.  They pinched his nipples, causing him to gasp. 

          Bruce reached for Jerome, tugging on his undershirt until the older man pulled it over his head and tossed it.  He couldn’t help but to start comparing them.  Where Bruce was all smooth soft skin, Jerome was muscular and covered in scars.  Tentatively, Bruce began to explore Jerome’s body with his hands, his own touch gentle.  He became so focused that he was startled when fingers wrapped around his cock. 

          Chuckling, Jerome fondled him until he was hard before sitting back and pulling himself out of his pants.  ‘He’s bigger than me,’ popped into Bruce’s head. The redhead spit in his hand before taking their cocks in his hand and began stroking them together, his mouth latching onto the unmarked side of his neck.

          “Oh God,” Bruce gasped at the sensation.  He knew he was supposed to be quiet, that they shouldn’t get caught, but he couldn’t help the moans that escaped his lips.  It wasn’t long before he felt a familiar tightness. Too quickly, Bruce was coming all over himself with a shout. 

          Jerome continued his ministrations through Bruce’s orgasm until he too was coming all over the younger man with a laugh.  He sat back and enjoyed the view below him before putting himself away and standing up. 

          The younger didn’t want to move so soon.  He would be happy to get off the ground, but the whole experience took a lot out of him and he was enjoying the post orgasm bliss. 

          “You did good, Brucie,” Jerome assured him as he was cleaned up with a rag the other found.  His heart warmed at the words.

 

* * *

 

          It was strange how much a simple act could change things.

          There was no denying their relationship now and everyone and Arkham either knew about it or lived under a rock.  Jerome was openly affection and called him every pet name under the sun it seemed.

Bruce didn’t know if it was possible for Jerome to be even handsier, if that was even a word.  The older man was always touching him, whether it was an innocent touch like holding hands, or a more sexual one in nature, like Jerome’s hands always finding his ass. 

His neck also seemed to be constantly sporting the world’s largest hickey.  Jerome seemed to enjoy leaving several marks on Bruce’s skin, his neck being his favorite place to do so and thus was all various shades of purple and pinks with no chance of fading

On top of this, Bruce was often on Jerome’s lap in one way or another.  At first, Bruce wasn’t so sure he liked the position, but like all things in Arkham, it grew on him.  He enjoyed the warmth and comfort it brought him, how he was constantly being whispered sweet things and praise to a point he was quickly becoming addicted to them.  It was strange, Bruce hadn’t realized how much he could enjoy being told he was a good boy before, how much he needed to hear the words, even though it was from someone with a very warped view of what good is.

 

* * *

 

 

After the hand job in the maintenance room, Bruce and Jerome were progressively finding more and more hideaway spots for “alone time.”  These times often had Bruce naked while Jerome simply in various states of undress.  Still, they both were becoming more and more comfortable with each other’s bodies.  Bruce was continuously embarrassed at how quickly the other could bring him to completion, and though he was assure it was both a compliment and that he was a teen so it was to be expected, the brunet still tried and failed to last longer. 

They still haven’t progressed further than using their hands, but Bruce suspected that wouldn’t be the case for much longer. Sex was still daunting to him.  He was nervous and only really had a vague understanding of how it even worked.

“Does it hurt?”  Bruce practically whispered to Jerome while curled up against his side.

“You have to be more specific, my dear,” Jerome chuckled in return.

“Y’know,” he buried his face, his words muffled, “sex.”

The redhead let out a bark of a laugh before prying Bruce out of hiding so he could look him in the eye.  “It isn’t pleasant for the bottoms at first,” he answered honestly.  “But I’ll take care of you.  Don’t I take care of you?”

Nodding, Bruce couldn’t deny that he was a pampered prince in this hell hole.  Jerome ensured that all his needs were met and as a blue blood, he had a lot of needs.  “You do.”

Even without the scars, the smile painted across Jerome’s face spread from ear to ear.  “Yeah I do.  You don’t need to worry you’re pretty little head about a thing.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. For everyone who left a kudo and a comment, I can't thank you enough. And a special thanks to those who left me ideas for future chapters. They have been more than helpful and I am already implementing them in the coming chapters.  
> Until the next chapter!  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: The Disapproval of a British Gentleman


	10. The Disapproval of a British Gentleman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> So when I saw that I made it to a hundred kudos this morning, I couldn't believe my eyes. Never did I think this story would be as popular as it is and that it would every get a hundred kudos. So in celebration, I wrote this chapter.  
> To thank you all, I wrote this chapter from suggestions of the lovelies, ceinwynstaffie and Panonnymous_Bloom and the inspiration of everyone who left a comment or kudos  
> I hope you all enjoy this short little chapter.

It was visiting day, and Bruce was reluctant to go.  He didn’t know yet who was going to visit him today, he never did until he got to the Visitors’ room, but he knew they would be disappointed in him. 

So far, only two individuals has even bothered to visit him; Jim Gordon and Alfred.  That being said, Jim has only visited him once, and it was months ago now, as it was the first week he was here and it was only to reassure him that he would find the clone and prove his innocence. 

Jerome offered to come with him if he wanted when he noticed Bruce’s hesitation, but Bruce declined.  The last thing he needed was Jerome and whomever it was in the same room.  It would be a complete disaster. 

So begrudgingly, he made his way to the Visitors’ room.  Bruce had brought the shirt up as much as it could be to cover his neck, but there was no hiding the collar of bruises.  They were too high, like Jerome knew Bruce would try to hide them and purposely put them right underneath his jaw… Fuck the bastard he definitely did this on purpose. 

The room he’s been assigned to is bare of everything but a cold metal table with a pair of handcuffs and two chairs.  The guards are anxious around Bruce now since his relationship with Jerome began. While only some followed the madman, the rest were scared of him and didn’t want to face his wrath if they hurt or allowed Bruce to be hurt.

Once bound, Bruce waits for them to bring in his visitor.  It doesn’t take long but with nothing to do but wait, it feels like it. He watches as the door buzzes and Alfred is escorted in. 

Each time Alfred visited him, Bruce swore that the man looked as if he had aged as if time was moving faster on the outside.  The man kept to the British code of pretending nothing is wrong and carrying on.  His wardrobe remained the same as before and he kept his face clean shaven, his quickly greying hair neatly combed. 

Just as he was taking in the other’s appearance, his butler was doing the same for him.  Bruce could only imagine what he was seeing.  His hair was longer but he kept it neat.  His uniform was as good of condition as it could be and he wore it properly, though if he thought about it, Jerome wore his in a similar manner as well.  When the butler’s noticed the hickeys, his face contoured in disapproval. 

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted. 

“Good afternoon, Alfred.  How are you doing?” 

“As well as one can be.  You’ve seemed to have found a nice chap,” He gestured to Bruce’s neck.

Bringing a hand to cover it up a bit, Bruce could feel his cheeks begin to flush.  “I wouldn’t go that far, it’s a little more complicated than that.” He admitted. 

“All relationships are complicated,” Alfred give a hint of a smile.  “Besides, it’s good to hear you’re not spending all your time with that Valeska bloke.”

While Bruce knew he was getting better at lying, he has always been shit at lying to Alfred.  Bruce wouldn’t say that he was ashamed of his relationship with Jerome, but he knew that no one would approve. The man tried to kill him, twice, and was a terror on Gotham.  So he kept his gaze down and rubbed at the spots on his neck unconsciously. 

“Bruce?”  Alfred was silent for a movement as understanding hit him.  “Did Jerome Valeska give you those marks?”

Bruce visibly flinched.  The words were harsh and dripped of disapproval and disappointment.  He hated it. 

Alfred aged before him another decade or two.  “I see.  And tell me, Master Bruce, where do you think this relationship will go?  Hmm?”

Taking a deep breath, Bruce dared to look up at the British gentleman.  “I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“And how do you think it’ll help your case?  Did you think about that?”

“There’s no point worrying about the case if I’m dead.  He takes care of me.  He makes me happy. He doesn’t make me do things I don’t want to.  The rules are different here, Alfred.  If I don’t have friends, I could die or something worse, and everyone here is either insane or a killer.”

“What about when you get out, Master Bruce?  What about then?  He might not ask anything of you now, but what about in the future?”

Bruce shook his head.  He can’t think of that.  While he wouldn’t say that he’s given up hope in being found not guilty, he had doubts, and every morning he wakes up in Arkham, those doubts grow.   “If I get out, Alfred.” He took a breath.  “Look, I’m not looking for approval. I know what he’s done and I know that if he ever escapes, he’ll hurt people, but I can’t think about that.  I just need to focus on getting through today.”

His butler looked resigned. “Gordon and I haven’t stopped looking for that clone and into the Court of Owls.  You just need to hang tight.”

Scoffing, Bruce leaned back.  “Where else will I go, Alfred?” Then he raised his voice.  “We’re done.”  While he missed his old friend, the other didn’t understand and he couldn’t feel shame for his actions.  He was happy for the first time in years despite the hellhole he was in.  He meets his guardian’s eyes with a newfound determination.  “It was nice seeing you, Alfred.”

The guards came in, undid his cuffs and led him back to Jerome. 

“Take care of yourself, Master B,” Alfred called after him.

 

* * *

 

Though try as he might, Bruce couldn’t help the words of Alfred from getting to him.  He was lying on the couch a good week later, his head in Jerome’s lap before he sat up and faced the ginger.  “When you escape,” he began because there was no way Jerome wouldn’t break out, especially since he ran the place, “Do you plan on taking me with you?”

Jerome’s face scrunched at the suddenness of the question before his caring smile that was only ever for Bruce returned.  “Is that what Jeeves said that has been bothering you?” He brought a hand to Bruce’s face, who leaned into the warmth.  “Brucie, I wouldn’t want leave you behind.  I promised that I will take care of you and I intend to keep it.  I can’t do that if you’re locked away here and I’m out there.” 

It made sense when he put it like that. “But I won’t help you do whatever you want to Gotham.  I-“ a finger pressed to his lips silenced him. 

“I also said you don’t need to worry your pretty head about a thing.” There was a stern look in his eyes.  He meant it. The old Bruce wouldn’t have his heart flutter at the words, to be reassured that Jerome of all people will take care of him and he didn’t have to do anything.  The old Bruce would have been worried about what Jerome had planned, as he just admitted he had one and get word to Jim at the very least. The old Bruce wouldn’t smile at Jerome and press a kiss to his scarred lips. 

The old Bruce would be worried about how much he was changing, how much Jerome was changing him.  But the current Bruce couldn’t muster anything but reassurance at this moment.  He didn’t have to worry about what Jerome would do when he broke out, so he won’t.  At least, not until it was happening, in which he promises himself that he will help the people.  But for now, he just needs to keep to the redhead’s side and everything will be taken care of. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I hope this chapter came out well, I'm not exactly sober and I am writing with a cat sleeping on my lap and trying my best not to disturb her.  
> I also hope Bruce isn't too out of character.  
> Thank you again for everyone who left a comment or kudos. It means the absolute world to me.  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Good Boy


	11. Good Boy

          The two of them were in an unused room that was mostly used for storage now.  All clothes were discarded and Bruce was kneeling on the matt they found and looking up at Jerome with his big brown eyes. 

          The ginger smiled down at him and pressed his leaking cock against his lips.  Hesitantly, Bruce’s “little pink tongue” tasted the tip before he parted his lips and allowed organ entrance.  Jerome entered until Bruce gagged and pulled back just enough that the younger could still breathe.  “There’s a good boy,” Jerome petted Bruce’s hair. 

          The words made his heart flutter and warmth spread through him. Sucking the best he could, he put his hands on Jerome’s hips to keep himself steady.   The older gave the occasional sharp thrust before holding the younger’s head and shoving his cock all the way in.  “That’s it.  Good Brucie.” 

          Tears ran down his cheeks as he was choking on the dick.  When black spots began to appear before his eyes, Jerome finally pulled back and let Bruce have his coughing fit.  “You’re doing so well.  You’re so beautiful like this.” Jerome was rubbing his back, nails scratched at his scalp before urging him to continue. 

          Hesitantly, Bruce sat back up and let Jerome back into his mouth, careful with his teeth.  Hands braced the back of his skull as a snap of his hips and Bruce was struggling for air and to suck at the same time.  His own nails were digging into Jerome’s hips as he clung to him as his face was fucked.  Then, Jerome pulled away again and was coming all over his face. 

          Once released, Bruce let himself fall back so he was sitting instead of kneeling as he tried to find his breath.  Jerome came to sit with him, pulling his head to his chest as he told him how good he did. He was glad.  He was told how hard it would be, but Jerome promised to be gentle. 

          “Do you want your reward?” Jerome’s voice was deeper now, huskier, and it caused a shiver go down Bruce’s spine.

          Not trusting his own voice at the moment, Bruce nodded. 

          A trail of bites and kisses made their way down his body as Jerome pushed for Bruce to lie back.  Unlike Bruce, Jerome seemed to have no trouble taking all of Bruce in his mouth and swallowing. 

          “Oh God,” Bruce moaned and tried to roll his narrow hips, but was effectively pinned down.  It was so much all at once.  A finger teased at his entrance as he was drawing close.  He barely managed to warn Jerome before he was coming with a mouth on his dick and a single finger in is ass. 

          “Such a good boy.” Jerome gave him a sloppy kiss.  “My good boy.” 

* * *

 

          Flu season in Arkham was the worse.  Bruce hated when he got sick, which thankfully wasn’t often.  No one actually liked it, he supposed, but he hated how weak he was.  More than anything, it made him miss home.  He missed Alfred taking care of him, how he would get soup in bed.  He missed the comfort of his own bed.

          Jerome was better off than him.  He had a runny nose and a slight cough, but he wasn’t down for the count like he was.  God Bruce hated him so much for it. 

          At first, people around them were sick, and Bruce kept his distance the best he could.  He even told Jerome he wasn’t cuddling with him once he started coughing, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to kiss or share food with him. And he tried to keep his word, though the other kept putting his hands on him.  It took all of what Bruce had not to strangle him when he coughed on him.  “Cover your fucking mouth,” he had ordered trying to cover the whole scarred face for good measure while the other laughed.

          Rolling out of bed with his head pounding, Bruce was pissed. He knew he was going to get sick, it was only a matter of time, but he blamed a certain redhead for speeding up the process.  God, everything hurts as he dragged himself to the cafeteria.  He wasn’t even hungry, but he knew he had to eat.

          When Jerome came next to him, he glared at him and the other just laughed at his pain.  “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

          “I fucking hate you.”

          Porridge was an alright breakfast when one doesn’t want to eat.  It could do with a little bit of honey, but Bruce could feel his taste buds becoming more and more numb to it all.  First thing he would do when he got out was to have a buffet outside so he could eat real food and enjoy the fresh air. The food wasn’t hot, it rarely was more than lukewarm, and so it didn’t warm him the way he longed for it to. If it was allowed, he would have brought his blanket.  He knew it was gross, but he kept wiping his nose on his sleeve, as he didn’t really have any alternative. 

          “Brucie,” Jerome whispered into his ear, something he doubts he’ll get used to as it instigated another shiver down his spine.  A hand covered his forehead and eyes.  “You’re burning up.” 

          Was he?  He thought it was quite chilly, to be honest.  “I’m sick, Jerome.”  The dumbass went unsaid. 

          He was being led out of the cafeteria, an arm around his waist to keep him steady as everything was getting quite dizzy.  He soon found himself surrounded by white and being poked and prodded by a lady dressed to blend in with it all.  Something cold was pressed against his chest and a stick under his tongue. 

          They give him pills and he shakes his head.  No pills. He won’t let them medicate him again.  He took them that first day and told himself never again.  Then there’s Jerome filling his vision. He’s pressing the pills to his lips, telling him to be a good boy, so he swallows them.  Fingers run through his hair and he smiles. 

          He’s laying down now.  Does that mean he could sleep?  He sure hopes so.  He closes his eyes and lets the abyss take him…

          More coherent, he’s released and is back in the rec room.  A blanket is wrapped around him and he was plopped on Jerome’s lap.  “Do you think they’ll make chicken noodle soup?” He asked, not caring how young and raspy he sounds. 

          “Is that what little Brucie wants?” 

          Eyes meet and Bruce nods in response.

          “I’m sure that’s what they’ll serve then.” 

          Content, Bruce laid his head down on his shoulder and listened to the heartbeat of the redhead as he told Janet to see about the soup before he attempted to sing/hum, his own congestion making it hard. 

          At lunch, Bruce had his noodle soup.  “Do you not want any?” He asked Jerome who for once wasn’t stealing his food. 

          “Soup and I don’t mix.”  There was a haunted look in his eye as he seemed to be in the past.

          “Oh… Do you want to talk about it?”  Jerome was always helping him, he wanted to do the same. 

          There was hesitation, but Jerome began petting Bruce’s head and told him about his uncle. “Uncle Zack was one of the cooks at the circus for a time.  As kids, we used to dare each other to steal cookies and such.  One day, I was snagging a snickerdoodle and he caught me.  The soup he made that day… he put the stock until it was boiling and forced my hand in it.  The smell…” He smiled and licked his lips but Bruce could see the hurt.  He reached out and cupped his cheek. 

          “I’m sorry.  We’ll never have soup if it bothers you.” 

          Brows scrunched as he leaned into the touch.  “You don’t have to do that for me.”

          “Nonsense.” Pushing the soup aside, he made Jerome look at him.  “I care about you, a lot.  If you don’t like something, it matters to me.”

          Beaming at him, Jerome took Bruce’s face and gave him a kiss.  “You’re so sweet, Brucie.  I could just eat you up.” 

          Bruce went beat red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.  
> I'm sorry in the delay. Real life can be quite a bitch when it comes to time to write and edit.   
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos. It means the world to me.   
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Interlude: A Detective Goes to Arkham


	12. Interlude: A Detective Goes to Arkham

There was a new drug making its rounds in Gotham, Gigglepig.  It was a hallucinogenic opioid that caused the individual to experience a euphoric high and as the name would suggest, uncontrollable laughter.  While the drug wasn’t the worst on the market, recently there had been a spike in the number of deaths linked to it, the latest being in the heart of Arkham Asylum.  

“I always hated this place,” Harvey told Jim as he got out of the car.  They both looked up to the creepy hospital that fit the type of people whom was housed inside perfectly as it gave off a horror film vibe.  

Jim agreed with him as he surveyed his surroundings. All eyes were on them as they entered the building.  They weren’t wanted as the asylum preferred minimal contact with law enforcement, despite the criminally insane individuals that have wreaked havoc on the city that resided inside.  

The two made their way inside and were directed to where the latest victim, Allen Smith, was found.  It was a gymnasium that was under construction to be renovated before the funds had “vanished.” He was brutally gutted with his intestines wrapped around his throat and had nothing but his I.D. and Gigglepig in his uniform pockets.  The blood at the scene indicated that the victim had struggled with his attacker before being murdered where he was found, the gutting done postmortem. Time of death was  recorded as the afternoon of the previous day at approximately fourteen-hundred hours (2 o’clock). 

The first interview was of the inmate that found the body, a skittish man who confessed to looking for a place to smoke.  After  some questioning it was proven that he wasn’t their suspect.   Their next course of action  was to interview all other possible suspects, which given the location, was about half of the population of Arkham’s staff and inmates.  ‘Oh, joy,’ thought Jim. 

After a couple of hours with varying degrees of coherent testimonies, Jim was ready to bang his head on the metal table before him.  They were getting nowhere as either they got insane babble or closed lip individuals who made it unclear if they knew anything.  T hey barely gained any new information. 

The  current  inmate they were interviewing seemed to fall into the more insane babble category.  He was a scrawny man with wide eyes that seemed unfocused and was searching for something the two policemen  weren’t able to see.  

“Where were you between one-thirty and two-thirty yesterday afternoon?” Jim investigated exasperated.  

After a moment, the inmate answered, “moppin’ the mess hall, sir.”

“Your scheduled route has you go by the unfinished gymnasium, did you hear or see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary?”

The inmate shook his head no as he started tugging at his hair.  “No, sir.” 

“Do you know of anyone whom had a recent disagreement or who would have something against Allen Smith?”

The inmate plead ignorance.  

“Do you know of anyone who would know?”

He began hitting his head with his fist, an action that Harvey and he tried to stop before the inmate began to speak again.  “The Clown.”

Clown?  Did he mean Valeska or someone else?  There were so many crazies that it didn’t narrow it down much.  

“ T he clown ? ” Harvey inquired.  

“The Clown is king and knows all that happens in his kingdom.”  The inmate replied.

“Meaning what?” Harvey pushed again.

“We’re in his kingdom.  We are all his citizens.  There’s the King, his beloved Prince, and his Court.  They know everything. They have ears and eyes everywhere.”

Harvey and Jim share d a look.  “And does this Clown King have any part of the drug trade?”

Shaking his head again, the inmate told them that the King has no interest in the drug trade, though he wouldn’t know for sure, but it is known that his people and himself to be consumers.

Finally they found a lead, they just had to find this Clown King, whomever they were.  

“I hope it’s not Valeska, I’m telling you right now, I don’t want to have anything to do with his particular brand of crazy,” Harvey  told  Jim. 

Jim couldn’t agree more. Besides, if he was the so called king, Jerome was more likely to play games at their expense than tell them anything relevant to the case.  

“Our best bet it to find the Prince.” But who could that be.  Jerome wasn’t the type to share the limelight with anyone and wasn’t the type to have second in command.  

Up until now, there was no mention of a King and Prince, so they had no leads.    After pondering, Jim recalled a little boy in an alley.  

“Bruce would know.  He’s an observant kid and before we couldn’t keep him off cases,” Jim suggested.  He missed the kid and had visited him during his first week in the asylum.  The kid was bitter about being unjustly imprisoned despite them both knowing of his innocence.  That being said Jim was left with the impression that unless he had news of improvement in his case, to not visit. It was unfortunate.  He missed the kid but wanted to respect his wishes. 

Harvey sucked his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Look, I’ve had one of my guys keep an eye on him… The kid’s had a rough start.  He’s been to the hospital wing twice within weeks of being here and in just as many fights.  He was even rescued by Valeska of all people on one occasion. They say he’s doing better now, has friends and such, but that doesn’t mean much as he’s still surrounded by psychos.”

“What are you telling me, Harvey?”

The captain took a deep breath.  “I’m just saying, the kid you knew might not be the one we see and I want you to be ready for that.”

Jim’s heart ached at the words.  He hated  what this damned city has done to sweet pure hearts like Bruce.  He knew he should have kept better contact with Bruce .  Bruce was part of the system that was failing him and needed all the support he could get.  Support that Jim wasn’t giving him by keeping his distance, by the other’s request or otherwise.  

“I understand,” he assured his friend, mentally preparing himself the best he was able.  He wasn’t ready, but he doubted that he ever truly would be. 

After inquiring the location of Bruce from a guard whom seemed reluctant to share such information, they made their way to one of the rec rooms. The sounds they heard as they walked the winding halls was disturbing and the feel made Jim suspected that instead of curing insanity, the asylum produced it instead.  His heart ached at the thought and the guilt over Bruce’s situation grew. He knew the boy was strong, but he was still a child and could only handle so much. 

The rec room was by far one of the nicer rooms they’ve seen thus far.  There was actual furniture that wasn’t metal and it gave off a homier feel than clinical.  There were indoor activities to occupy the inmates, soothing classical music playing from a radio in one of the corners.  And most importantly, it didn’t have the same rundown feel as it was actually kind of clean and everything wasn’t holding itself together by a thread.  That being said, everything was certainly a few years old at least. 

They scanned the room for Bruce and found him in an armchair by the window and a space heater. The kid had grown, with hair the longest they’ve ever seen it and clothes while neat, too large for his frame. In one hand was a real porcelain tea cup and the other a book. The armchair was tall with a throne like impression and the blanket on Bruce’s lap was soft fuzzy thing that looked warm and too good to be standard issue.  

Surrounding Bruce was several inmates that both seemed to be minding their own business and guarding him at the same time.  One in particular, a lady with frizzy hair, was sitting by his feet. 

The kid seemed to be doing well for himself.  With the way the light came in from the window, the kid had a very royal appearance and Jim couldn’t help the thought that they had just found the Prince. 

Stepping into the room, all eyes were on them and most conversations ceased.  The inmates around Bruce seemed to look at them with a mix of awe and fear, but those closest to him seemed to tense and prepare themselves to take action if need be, one taking off in a rush.  

Bruce was the exception to this.  He was relax as he gave them a regal smiled, putting his book and tea on the little table beside him before placing his hands in his lap.  The movement brought Jim’s attention to his neck where the world’s largest hickey resided. “Detective Gordon, Captain Bullock, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” He greeted them.  It was so formal and impersonal it hurt. 

After a moment to take in the scene, Harvey greeted Bruce.  “Hey kid, how are you doing?”

With a thoughtful tilt of his head, Bruce’s eyes flickered between the two of them.  “I am well as could be, given my circumstances,” he gestured to his surroundings. “But my wellbeing is not why you’re here.”

Insightful as always, Harvey took his hat off and held it to his chest.  “No, it’s not. Can we talk in private for a moment?”

Bruce took a deep breath as he broke eye contact and seemed to think a moment.  “Of course. Please, have a seat.”

The inmates around him went  into action, rearranging things quickly so that there were two seats before Bruce and they backed off to give them the semblance of privacy.  Neither Jim nor Harvey made a move to sit though.

“Actually, we were thinking about stepping into the hall really quick, if you don’t mind.”

Again, Bruce’s eyes left them, this time for the door before returning to them.  “I’m not supposed to leave, you see. To what is this about?”

This time, Jim answered.  “We’re here for the death of Allen Smith, he was one of the nurse’s here.” He handed him a blown up picture of the victims I.D. 

Looking the photo over, Bruce shook his head and handed it back.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything. Smith was a kind nurse though I personally didn’t interact much with him beyond in passing.  Is there anything else I could help you with?”

The formality was killing Jim.  He thought they were pass that, that they were friends. 

“Yes, do you know anything about the drug, Gigglepig, and who deals it in Arkham?” Jim inquired.  

“I know of the drug.  It gives you a high that makes everything shiny but afterwards your memory of your time on it is fuzzy.”  While Bruce tried to seem impersonal about his description of the drug, there was look in his eyes that said otherwise.

While Jim managed to keep this observation to himself, Harvey  didn’t .  “You’re doing drugs now, kid?”

With a hardened gaze, Bruce glared at the gruff man. “Don’t you dare judge me.  I don’t need your bullshit ‘concern.’”

Trying to defuse the situation, Jim tried to pacify Bruce.  “Look, we’re not judging. We just need the supplier.”

Resting his head on his fist, Bruce peered out the window.  “I’ve been told I don’t need to worry my pretty head about such things.”  While the comment seemed strange it wasn’t the strangest they’d heard all day but perhaps among the most concerning.  There was someone who did know but had enough authority and respect to have Bruce keep his nose out when that seemed an impossible task.  Then his gaze returned to them. “Is there anything else?” The sharpness of his tone made them feel their presence was no longer welcome.

“Actually, there is.  Do you know anything about a Clown King and Prince?” Jim questioned.

Shaking his head, Bruce’s brows scrunched together.  “I have never heard about anyone like that.”

Before either party could say anything, a single voice filled the room and brought a chill up the two policemen’s spines. “Jimbo!  Sidekick!” They turned to the redhead they’ve been hoping to avoid. “What brings you two to visit? Did ya miss me?” 

Walking in like he owned the place was Jerome Valeska with a huge grin on his face and a cookie in his hand.  

“No one missed you,” Harvey told him.  

Jerome didn’t seem bothered by the comment as he made his way past them and to Bruce whom he planted a possessive kiss on his lips that was surprisingly well received.  “Fresh from the oven, just as requested,” he informed the teenager as he presented the cookie. 

“Thank you,” Bruce replied and took the cookie happily, placing it on the edge of the teacup saucer.  

Helping himself to sit across Bruce’s lap, Jerome loudly inquired, “What’s Dumb and Dumber doing here?”  The familiarity was both concerning and infuriating. 

With a roll of his eyes, like this was an every day’s occurrence, Bruce adjusted them so he was comfortable.  “The Captain and Detective are investigating the gutting of that nurse with their intestines wrapped around their neck.”

For someone who didn’t know anything, that was a very specific detail of their case that wasn’t widely known. 

“Ooooo, Al!  I’m gonna miss him.  He always had something fun on him.” 

So he was a dealer, Jim mentally noted.  That at least answered one question and created more in the process.  

The redhead turned to them as he wrapped an arm around the kid with a knowing look.   The meaning was clear, Bruce was his now, and the fact couldn’t be more frightening.  

“Do you have any more questions for  _ my _ Brucie?  We were in the middle of something.”  

“Seriously kid,” Harvey exclaimed. “Valeska?”

If looks could kill, his friend would be six feet under.  “I think you should be going.”

Harvey made a noise of protest but Jerome interrupted him. 

“You’ve heard my Brucie,” Jerome growled.  

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw the inmates ready themselves for action if given the command.  There was no question in his mind. They found the King and Prince and they were beginning to overstay their welcome.  

“Of course.  If you can think or hear of anything, tell a guard to let us know.” Jim  said as he  left.

“Will do,” Jerome answer ed but they both knew he  was lying. They had all the information they would get from the two.  

Once they were in the car again, Jim could really start to process all the information and  the guilt began to eat  at him.  

Jim left Bruce to fend for himself in perhaps one of the most dangerous places for the kid.  He wasn’t there for him and now he was in a relationship with Jerome Valeska of all people. The man that tried to kill him on more than one occasion.  He mourned  for the kid that he knew and swore to himself he would put more effort in getting the kid out before it was too late and  before Jerome had too much influence on who the kid grew into.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It was a long time coming for me. I started a version of it in what I think was August and this is the fifth version of it. I couldn't make up my mind on how Jim and Harvey would meet Bruce and Jerome and what the two were doing. Regardless, I didn't like any of them enough and kept scrapping them. My boyfriend had a big influence with this chapter, telling me what he liked and didn't like about the previous versions despite never having seen the show and helping me edit so a BIG shout out to him.  
> Thank you bae.  
> And a big thank you to everyone who's left a kudo and a comment. They keep me motivated!  
> xoxo  
> Next Chapter: Mornings: Bruce's Real Archenemy


	13. Mornings: Bruce's Real Archenemy

Bruce struggled to relax following the visit of the GCPD to Arkham.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see people from the outside, it was he didn’t know how he felt about the two worlds crossing. Up until now he could separate the two fairly well.  Alfred would only come to the fringes where the two met, but unlike Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock, he didn’t truly enter. 

          He saw their faces.  They looked at him with disapproval and confusion.  What do they expect?  For him to not adapt to his surroundings?  He was still Bruce and if anything he was better now, happier.  Who were they to judge him?

Falling hard onto the floor, the mat barely doing anything to cushion the blow, Bruce is pulled out of his thoughts.  Pinned to the ground, Bruce glared up at the chuckling redhead.  “Was that necessary?”

          “You could have stopped me if you were paying attention,” Jerome answered, his lips brushing against Bruce’s ear.  “A penny for your thoughts?” 

          “It’s nothing,” Bruce tried, but Jerome didn’t seem to believe him as he raised a brow and sat back onto his heels, releasing his grip on Bruce so the brunet could lay more comfortably.  “Just about their visit.”

          There was no reason to specify whom he was speaking of. Jerome knew.  He always knew. 

          “Are you sure they didn’t say anything until I got there?” Jerome inquired, cupping Bruce’s cheek.

          “They didn’t,” Bruce assured him, leaning into the warm touch.  “It’s just how they looked at me.”

          “Like your mad?  Oh Brucie.  Their opinions don’t matter.  None of them matter. They don’t see what I see; my sweet precious Brucie.”

          He spoke the words with such conviction, Bruce couldn’t help but believe him.  It didn’t matter what other’s thought of him.  He was happy, truly happy, with himself for what felt like the first time since his parents’ death.   Besides, they had no right to judge him after he went through with none of _their_ help.  No, the only one who has been there for him was Jerome. 

          Smiling up at the ginger, Bruce ran his hands up his sides. 

          With a giggle, Jerome leaned back down, capture his lips and letting his own hands wonder. 

          Clothes were pulled and tugged off as the two took and gave pleasure to the other.  They lost themselves in the ecstasy; in each other.  And before long, they were lying side by side as they caught their breaths. 

          Rolling onto his side, Bruce watches Jerome for a moment, admiring the older man.  He admired the way his skin glistened from sweat.  How his scars healed to give him a unique appearance that Bruce once thought was frightening, but now found handsome.  He saw how his eyes seemed to just glow and how his voice made his heart flutter.   And he observed how his love smiled at him with adoration that made Bruce feel all warm and fuzzy. 

          Bruce knew the old him wouldn’t have felt the same way, but he truly felt so incredibly happy to be by Jerome’s side and he didn’t want to ever have to leave.

* * *

 

 

The first time they went all the way, it was after Bruce got into fight.  It wasn’t anything serious, just a way for Bruce to release pent up frustrations and Jerome, as always, was able to accommodate.

          Well, he called it a fight to make himself feel better.  Jerome seemed to know just what Bruce needed and that night, hours after lights out, here he was.  The man the others were dragging away and Bruce had stood on the makeshift stage.  They squared off and after the other put in a few swings, Bruce went gun hoe.

          He didn’t think he broke his hand on the other’s face, he wasn’t that reckless, but it did need some ice.  The other man would be okay, he was assured, though he might need to rest for a while. 

          A few kisses later, Bruce was in Jerome’s cell, laying on his bed.  They both were naked, Jerome sitting between Bruce’s legs as his slick fingers moved in and out of the younger virgin hole.  Since they were first intimate, Jerome had been gently stretching the brunet, easing him into the feeling of being filled.

          “Jer-“ Bruce moaned as he felt fingers brushed against his sweet spot. 

          “That’s it, Brucie.  Let me hear you.”  Pulling his fingers out, Jerome replaced them with his cock. 

          It hurt but it was a good kind of hurt.  Neither moved at first, but when Jerome began, he was quick and brutal.  He adjusted his thrusts until Bruce howled out with pleasure when he hit his prostate.  The whole cellblock could hear them, the slapping of skin, the moans. 

          A hand wrapped around Bruce’s length as his legs were wrapped around Jerome’s waist.  “You’re so good,” Jerome praised.  “My good boy.”  It wasn’t long before Bruce was coming as Jerome continued to mutter sweet things to him.  Keeping up pace, Jerome followed soon after, coming deep within Bruce. 

          He should move back to his cell for the morning. It wouldn’t do if he was found in Jerome’s bed when the guards came to take them all to breakfast.  He knew this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything just yet.  The bed was warm and comfortable. 

          Jerome was humming as he adjusted them so they were spooning and a threadbare blanket was thrown over them. 

          Maybe it would be okay if he just closed his eyes for a little bit.  He wouldn’t stay, not the whole night, but a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. 

* * *

 

          Waking up was always a slow process for Bruce.  He wasn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.  It was his least favorite time of day.  This morning was no different, but something seemed off. 

          Bruce knew his cell had luxuries that others did not. Not only because he had someone on the outside that gave him access to them, but money helped convince the guards to allow him such privileges.  So he had actual decent bedding for a start.  It still wasn’t home, but it wasn’t the cheap scratchy material this bed had. 

          He wasn’t in his bed, he realized.  Startled by this fact, Bruce tried to sit up, but warm strong arms keeping him from moving away. 

          A chuckle was all it took to tell Bruce who he was with.  Immediately, he relaxed back into the comfort the redhead brought him.  Memories of the previous night came to him and he felt his blood rush to his face. 

          If even six months ago someone told him he would willingly give his virginity to Jerome Valeska of all people, he would think Arkham is just where they belonged.  Yet here he was, the morning after, more than happy to be in his arms.

          What does one even do in this situation?  Did he say good morning?  Did he just go about like normal?  Should he sneak back to his cell?

          “Stop thinking, I’m trying to sleep,” Jerome told him, his voice thick with sleep and his lips so close to Bruce’s ear.  A shiver went up his spine. 

          That was easier said than done.  Now all he could think about was how close Jerome was.  How his body was pressed against his.  How his strong arms made him feel.  There was an icky feeling of slick and stickiness between his legs.  Blaming his growing hardness on a mix of being a teenager and morning wood, Bruce hoped Jerome wouldn’t notice and tried to think of anything else. 

          A hand moved down his stomach, sticky from his own release, and grasped him.  Gasping, Bruce arched into the touch, even if it was arguably too tight.  “Oh I see, little Brucie’s awake.” 

          Hips rocked against his, Jerome’s own hardness pressed against his ass.  If he wasn’t awake before, he was now.  Jerome rolled Bruce onto his stomach as he went to press fingers to his hole.  “Still so wet and open for me.” The pillow was taken out from under Bruce’s head and under his hips before he felt Jerome’s tip press into him. 

          The stretch burned.  Once Jerome was at the hilt, he started peppering Bruce with kisses.  “So tight.”  Unlike the last time, Jerome moved slowly.  The thrust of his hips burned as Bruce adjusted.  Angling himself just right, Jerome’s head hit his prostate and he saw stars.  “There it is.” 

          The pain mixed and morphed into pleasure as Jerome took his time fucking him.  Each thrust cause him to rub just so wonderfully against the pillow, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.  When he felt he was near, Jerome slowed down to a crawl, chuckling at the whine of protest. 

          “Please,” he whimpered.  “Jerome, please, I’m so close.” 

          “Do you?  Does my Brucie need to cum?”  He nipped at his ear, the rumble of his voice making his stomach flip.

          “Yes.”

          “Say it.  Say, your Brucie needs to cum.”

          “Your- Your Brucie needs to cum.”

          “You’re mine.”

          “I’m yours.”

          Pulling Bruce up so he was more on his hands and knees, Jerome sped up, a hand went around and stroked Bruce in time with his thrusts.  It was all so sudden, and Bruce came with a shout, Jerome following soon after. 

          “Such a good boy,” Jerome mutters into his ear as he gets off the bed and starts cleaning them up. 

          His touch was warm and blissful.  It made Bruce sleepy again.  So much so, he was barely aware of what Jerome was telling him as he rejoined him in the bed.

         

* * *

 

          He was being shook awake.  “Five more minutes Alfred.”

          Someone was chuckling. “Are all rich kids this close to their butler?”

          “Wha?”  That wasn’t Alfred… Oh.  “Morning Jerome.”

          A kiss was pressed to his cheek.  “Morning kido.  It’s time for breakfast, the doors are about to open.”

          Fuck. Shooting up, the room spun a little at the sudden movement.  Jerome of course was already dressed to his usual standard. 

          The redhead watched with open amusement as Bruce ran around the cell, dressing as fast as he could.  His hair wouldn’t lie down flat and his clothes was not as tidy as before, but there was only so much fiddling he could do, seeing as they were crumbled on the ground all night. 

          “How do I look?” 

          “Adorable.”

          Bruce glared at him as the doors opened.  There was no hiding that Bruce wasn’t in his cell last night.  Jerome didn’t seem to care as they stood at his door.  The guard did a double take but otherwise didn’t comment.  The inmates were not nearly as courteous and were all whispering to each other.  Everyone would know where Bruce had slept before they even got to the cafeteria, Bruce was sure of it. 

          Bruce was right.  Everyone knew.  It didn’t help he still had sex hair and clearly didn’t come with his own cell block.  Plus, he was sure he was walking funny as he was still sticky and slick from their previous activities.

          No one said anything to his face.  Well, on purpose.  There was a comment about his hair, but it was innocent and he couldn’t fault the man.  Didn’t change how his face was constantly turning red and the warm buzz that still hadn’t worn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> OMG I'm so so sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I really didn't mean for it to take so long. Real life is really kicking my arse and that doesn't even include the fact I work in not one but TWO retail jobs in the mall and it's Christmas! Which means more hours and money, but it's so exhausting and customers seem to compete to be the biggest fucking jerks.   
> Enough about that.   
> This fic is coming to an end, I hope to finish before the end of the year. Fingers crossed. That does NOT mean the story is over. There is more. I don't write in any sensical way. For instance I have a few chapters of the next fic done, but I don't have the first one, and I have the chapter after the next one in this fic almost done, but I don't have the next one.   
> That being said, if any of you have any ideas or desires for what the boys to get into while still in Arkham, I'm all ears.
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter and the smut was finally worth the wait. I tried to make it longer than my usual chapters to make up for it.   
> I'm also really sorry for how long this note ended up being and how rambling it is.   
> xoxo
> 
> Next Chapter: I don't know yet, I haven't wrote it yet :/


	14. Shower Funtimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I'm not dead!  
> I'm sorry so much for the long wait. I know it has been dreadful. I really thought I wold be able to post before the new year, and not nearly half way into it. Writer's block is a S.O.B. and RL hasn't been that much fun either.  
> Thank you so fucking much to everyone who has left a kudo and a comment. It is what keeps me writing.  
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that it was worth the wait.

Bruce looked up at the guard with wide eyes as he was told that he was no longer going to be able to shower alone and was joining the adults.  The guard wouldn’t give him a straight answer but they both knew that it was the Warden’s doing after word made it to him on Jerome’s and his relationship. 

          Immediately following being told this information, Bruce told Jerome.  The ginger pat his head and assured him that he would take care of him, just like he always did. 

          The Billionaire swore that word in Arkham spread faster than it did in high school. The residents were more restless than normal at the prospect of seeing him naked.  It was really terrifying and made him grateful for Jerome’s protection.  The leers were more intense than normal and he could spot the lucid gestures and overhear the lustful words, causing his skin to crawl. 

           While in Arkham, Bruce will admit he doesn’t shower as much as he used to.  By that he means he doesn’t shower every day, but when the guards will bother to block off the shower for him to do so. Other inmates were able to use the shower in their cellblock as often as they like, though they are required once a week minimal, during their free time. 

          The next afternoon, Bruce was told by Ralf that Jerome arranged him time to shower and so Bruce followed the lanky inmate to the communal showers where Lucas was already standing by, guarding the entrance.  The large man gave him a nod in greeting as he entered. 

          The room was always so hot and humid, it made Bruce uncomfortable.  He wasn’t a fan of humid, he was a Gothamite and enjoyed the cool overcast weather that was Gotham’s norm.  His eyes flickered around as he saw a hand reaching for him and he responded instinctively to defend himself before he realized who it was.  The blow not only was to the other’s side and twisted their arm painfully, but pushed him away that almost caused them to fall.  He relaxed his stance, eyes wide with apology.

          Standing before him in all his very naked glory was Jerome.  Bruce didn’t know if he would ever get used to seeing him nude, but he wasn’t yet. Bright red as the other chuckled and not too gently shoved him against the tiled wall in retaliation.  Lips captured his in a brutal kiss that was all teeth and over as soon as it began. “What did I tell you?”

          Dazed from the kiss, it took Bruce a moment to jumpstart his brain again to recall what Jerome could be referring to.  “You would take care of me.”  Not of it.  Not that he would grant him showers alone, but that he would take care of him. 

          Scared lips stretched into a smile that Bruce was given when he made Jerome happy and proud.  He was pleased with himself for saying the right thing.  His hair was brushed out of his eyes, reminding him of how desperate he was becoming for a haircut, and he was released.  “That’s my boy.  Now strip.”

          Watching him with hungry eyes, Bruce felt his face flush as he took his uniform off.  The second the last garment was off, hands were on him again and he was being pulled to where the water was flowing. 

          When Bruce reached for the soap, he was batted and was given a slap on his ass.  “Just close your eyes and let me take care of my Brucie.”

          The brunet tried to inform the redhead that he could wash himself, but his ass was slapped again and he relented. The other started with his hair, his fingers on his scalp was heavenly.  His hands messaged any tension left in his body and he was left pliant and barely capable of standing on his own.  He was guided under the flow of water to rinse before the process repeated for conditioner. 

          Then, the heavenly fingers wrapped around his cock and he opened his eyes wide with surprise, not realizing he had closed them.  Jerome grinded against his ass as he stroked the younger one nice and slow into hardness that matched his own.   Conditioner slick fingers entered him, scissoring and curling inside him, causing him to gasp and moan in pleasure. 

          Bruce stretched out his arms, steadying himself as the two became three fingers started to thrust in and out of him, searching and quickly finding that special bundle of nerves that make it go from good to mind blowing. Suddenly, the fingers were pulled out and his legs urged wider apart.  Strong hands gripped his hips and with a single thrust, Jerome was balls deep inside him. 

          “Oh, God,” Bruce moaned as he felt himself be filled.  It was amongst the best feelings in the world. 

          He still hadn’t fully adjusted to Jerome’s girth before the other was moving.  In a quick and brutal pace, Jerome fucked Bruce who struggled to keep upright.  There was no point in keeping quiet as his prostate was found.  Teeth nipped at his neck, right where it met his shoulder, the other hand still wrapped around his cock, strokes matching thrusts. 

          “You’re mine,” Jerome huskily growled into his ear, causing goosebumps.  “My Brucie.  My good boy.”

          “Yours,” Bruce echoed back breathlessly.  “All yours.’

          “Cum for me,” the older ordered.

          His body obeyed immediately and he came hard.  Barely able to stand, Jerome pulled out and allowed him to fall to his knees.  Moving around him, Jerome pressed his cock to Bruce’s lips, who opened them unconsciously. 

          Thrusting in, Jerome was met with minimal resistance as Bruce was too out of it and after a near two months of practice, he didn’t gag nearly as much as he did in the beginning.  Relaxing his throat to allow himself to take all of Jerome in, his eyes still tearing up a smidge but he kept his gaze on the other’s eyes.  Fingers scratched at his scalp as he was told he was doing well, the words still making his heart flutter.

          The ginger fucked his throat with ease and before he knew it, was coming down his throat.  When he pulled out, he still coughed but refused to spit any of it up.  Good boys swallowed and Bruce was a good boy.

          Being pulled up, they fininshed up the shower before dressing and making their way to Jerome’s cell.   

…

          Some days were absolutely unbearable.  Those days, Jerome managed to get himself locked away in solitary confinement and left Bruce to entertain himself.  Jerome, for all the chaos that he reveled in, also maintained order in his own way, and was always let back out sooner rather than later.  It was that way by design, and while at first Bruce tried to keep out of trouble, he found he enjoyed being the cause.

          This was not one of those times.

          He was just heading back to the REC room from the loo and had Ralf and a new inmate, Jerry, when the trouble began.

          Jerry turned on them and attacked Ralf as two other armed inmates seemed to come out of the woodwork and jumped Bruce.  He was quick, dodging the first blow and countering the next.   It’s been a while since Bruce had to fight for his life and he mentally chastised himself for allowing his guard to go down.  Jerome was growing in power over the kingdom that is Arkham, and it was natural for there to be some pushback.

          A hard knock to his chest had him propelling into the wall when he glanced over at Ralf whom was getting coated in a worrisome amount of red.  Jerry, having taken the large man by surprise had managed to stab his upper chest with his short bladed shank and another slice in his arm, both bleeding profusely.

          Dazed, Bruce’s vision briefly blurred before he launched himself at his opponent.  Once the first fell to the ground, Bruce took his shiv and thrusted it where the shoulder and chest met.

          He was forced off with a hard shove, but he managed to twist to his advantage, striking the second inmate in the neck.

After striking the second inmate Bruce felt a sharp pain in his right side.

Glancing down, he saw the first inmate had taken the shiv out of his shoulder and stabbed him with it.

Fuck.

Looking at the wound and at the inmate, Bruce kicked him as hard as he could, knocking him out so he could resume his focus on the second inmate, who used the time to knock the wind out of him.

Double fuck.

Arms wrapped around him partly lifting him off the ground.  While thrashing, Bruce saw Ralf on the ground behind him, unnaturally still.

Triple fuck.

“Hold the whore down,” the second inmate ordered Jerry.  Jerry tried to obey but Bruce stomped on his foot and elbowed him in the gut just as he thrusted his head into his chin, dislodging the man.   Quickly, Bruce punched the other inmate in the nuts before he found himself tackled and pinned to the ground.  Hands incapacitated, Bruce bit down hard on Jerry’s forearm, causing him to scream and blood to fill the teen’s mouth.

When the guards came, Bruce had a bloody mad smile painted across his lips that he didn’t even realize was there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. A peek into Dark!Bruce and my second attempt at a fight. I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about adding maybe one or two more chapters to this story based on suggestions so if there's anything you'd like to see, just let me know. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who left a kudos and comments. You're awesome.  
> xoxo
> 
> Next Chapter: Letting Go Is For Disney

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading. You know the drill. Kudos and comment. I thrive on attention and would love to hear from all of you. If anyone has any suggestions for what Jerome and Bruce should get up to while in Arkham, I would love to hear it. I have a few things planned but any ideas is greatly appreciated.  
> I apologize for rambling. Thank you again.  
> xoxo


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